Not Like You're Gagging For It
by honest iago
Summary: A sequel to Certain Not To Like, concerning the awkward beginnings of a strange sort of relationship. So Donny and Utivich frotted in the dirt together. What next? SLASH.


**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing except a beautiful cat named Miguel.**

**WARNINGS: **More of the same filthy, nasty man-pleasuring-man. And Donny comes in his pants. Again. **Slash**.

**SUMMARY: **So Donny and Utivich frotted in the dirt together. What next? Word count: 2254.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **A sequel to **Certain Not To Like**, jumping right in where that one left off. Basically more of the same sort of thing. Again un-beta-ed, so feel free to criticise/bitch-slap me. I suck down reviews like Wicki does cigarettes. I also suck down cigarettes like Wicki sucks down cigarettes, but that's another story.

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The next night, Donny slept huddled against Omar and managed to not think about Utivich at all, except to acknowledge that he was a lot warmer than Omar.

The night after that he was on watch, and he entertained himself reliving a particularly gory fight from his youth that had started outside a hot-dog stand after a ball game. He couldn't remember why it had started (probably some crack about hairdressers), but he remembered every other detail, the beating the guy had given him, and best of all how he'd finally won, spitting blood and teeth in that asshole's eyes and bouncing his head off the road. His deadbeat friends had treated him like a God for three whole days afterwards. It was one of his favorite memories of his life before the war.

The next night he bedded with Stiglitz, successfully thought of nothing, and slept soundly.

When Utivich's scalp-count reached eighty five two days later, Donny had congratulated him warmly, just like all the others. Wicki – already on one hundred and two – gave the little guy a pat on the back, a big grin and a couple of cigarettes.

Even Omar, who's count was only sixty eight, the lowest of all of them, joined in congratulating Utivich, and they'd drunk a couple of bottles of liberated brandy before Utivich went on watch.

Two nights and one watch after that the day came when Donny knew he'd be bedding down with Utivich again. It'd been easy not to think about it before today. They hadn't looked at each other any more than usual, hadn't spent any more time together than usual, had bickered just about as much as usual.

It had been a quiet day, the kind of day Donny hated, because they had to hold their position until a mail drop containing orders came through from the OSS.

By mid-afternoon, Donny had stripped to his pants and his wife beater, and was taking out his pent-up aggression chopping up wood to keep their fire going. He'd already chopped more wood than they needed, but everyone felt it wiser not to point this out – even Aldo, as he knew how Donny got when he didn't get to smash in any Nazi faces for a few days.

Aldo had kept them busy all morning with drills, training, studying maps, target practice – all the sorta stuff they knew how to do in their sleep by now.

This afternoon, Aldo was drinking from his hip flask and telling Wicki and Stiglitz a long, meandering story from his youth that all the Basterds had heard a few times before. Wicki was chain-smoking and nodding absently as he sipped from his own hip flask, and Stiglitz was staring off into the middle distance, occasionally lighting a smoke.

Omar was dozing propped up against a tree. Sarkowitz and Hirschberg were engaged in what must have been round fifty of a very serious, very bitter card game they had going.

And Utivich, well, Utivich was sat in the same clearing where Donny was keeping himself busy with the axe, and he appeared to be writing a letter of some sort.

Donny wasn't exactly sure why Utivich had come to be in the same clearing as him, but he didn't particularly mind either. It wasn't like Utivich was making a nuisance of himself. Still, he was there, encroaching on Donny's space and wriggling slowly but surely into Donny's head.

"You writin' to your parents, U'tich?" He asked eventually.

"To my girl back home." Said Utivich after a pause.

Donny grunted. "She a good little Jewish girl? Or she the kind to go sneaking round with some conscription dodger while you're getting' your balls broke over here?" He swung the axe down hard onto a gnarled branch.

Utivich appeared to think about it. "Could be either. I don't think it hurts to write to her, though."

"I'm sure she wants to know all the gory details. Maybe it gets her hot enough that she can screw the other guy."

Utivich sighed and got up, stowing his writing materials in his pockets.

He turned to walk back to the others, and Donny found himself following the smaller man a few steps.

"Utivich. Sorry."

Utivich paused, but didn't turn around.

Donny got close up behind Utivich. He could hear the little man's breathing. His batting hand formed a sharp curve, and without intending it, he landed a smack on Utivich's firm behind.

Utivich's spine went ramrod straight in shock, and Donny walked back to his task as if nothing had happened, not looking at the other man, who eventually walked away.

*****

Later, after darkness had finally fallen, Donny found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything. His mind was drawing a complete blank, but one of his legs was twitching continuously as he crouched around the campfire with the others.

He must've been conspicuously quiet, too, causing several curious stares in his direction, notably from Aldo and Wicki.

Eventually it came time to find a dryish, comfortable looking spot for the night. Omar and Stiglitz were on watch duty tonight.

Donny automatically chose to bed down as far as was humanly possible away from where Wicki and Hirschberg were already lying. He couldn't help but grimace a little as Utivich lay down. It was going to be torture to lie still until Wicki began snoring. Donny got down next to the skinny little Jew.

As soon as they were next to each other on the ground, and the blanket was roughly covering them, Utivich grabbed Donny's hand and moved it so it splayed out flat over his crotch. Donny couldn't help but gasp, more from the swiftness and boldness of Utivich's movement than the steely erection he felt there.

Utivich pressed Donny's hand hard against his arousal and moved his mouth to whisper hotly into Donny's ear.

"I've been like that since you slapped my ass, Sergeant." Donny felt the words more than he heard them, and he had to suppress a violent shudder.

_Holy Moses in a steam boat. _

The kid already had him hard. Or had he been hard when he lay down?

He could just make out the gleam of Utivich's blue irises by the dying light of the fire. The kid was looking at him so earnestly, his cock throbbing under Donny's palm.

Donny rearranged the blanket and turned his broad back on the fire and the other Basterds, shielding them a little.

"Can't you at least wait until Wicki falls asleep you crazy little son of a bitch?" He practically mouthed.

Utivich stared back, intense and serious. He shook his head once. Donny made a barely audible sound of frustration. He stroked Utivich through the scratchy French peasant trousers he wore and saw the boys mouth fall into a tiny 'o' and his eyelids drift shut.

Well fuck a duck. It didn't exactly take much to get the kid going, did it?

Donny was forced to stop that line of thought when he realised just how insistently his own cock was raging against his fly buttons. In itchy irritation, he forced Utivich's trousers open and scooped the handful of hot flesh out from his long johns. What with the blanket and the poor light he couldn't make out any details, but he still stared down anyway.

Utivich's veiny, circumcised cock felt like velvet in his hand. It felt fucking great.

He began to pump Utivich quickly and harshly, feeling suddenly vicious, wanting Utivich to come quickly so he could move on to his own pleasure, his own aching hardness.

It was a dry wank, lots and lots of friction, but from Utivich's face you would have thought it was a backstreet blow-job from a pro. Disheveled slices of dark hair fell across the little man's forehead, his face was flushed with colour, his eyes screwed shut. Utivich had the heel of his own palm pushed into his mouth against the build-up of noise threatening to escape. He was completely given over to his own pleasure.

Donny hated him a little bit. Fucking bastard. _Fucking – Oh GOD… Ohohgod…_ How could it feel this good to watch yourself beating someone else off?

Donny couldn't even move his hips as the motion would possibly be seen by one of the others. Still, the force of the hardness pressing into his pants buttons was dizzying. The lack of stimulation was almost a turn-on in itself.

What the fuck was up with Utivich, looking like that, moving – ever-so-gently – like that? Couldn't he just come already?

Apparently not.

Donny could hear a couple of the others snoring already, but he knew Wicki'd still be awake, and irritable as all hell, probably. They had to stay quiet, had to stay still…

Donny wanted to thrust his hips forward so badly he could hardly think. But no, he couldn't, they weren't far enough from the others, it was still early enough that the fire wasn't out yet… Shit, but Utivich really was a selfish little bastard…

His strong hand was tightly squeezing to the point where it must be almost painful for Utivich. Donny heard a low, barely audible whine, and it took a minute to realise that it had come from him, not the titch.

The little guy was tentatively stroking his free hand down Donny's chest, long fingers worming in between Donny's shirt buttons but meeting only his stained vest and not thick chest hair. Utivich seemed to be rolling closer to him, very slowly. Good God, Donny's stroking hand ached like nothing else. He'd have cramp by the time it came to his turn. _ Fuck_, would he even reach his turn? He thought that if Utivich's roving knuckles so much as brushed over his tented crotch right now, he might just explode.

But Utivich was lost in some world of uber-arousal. His eyes blinked open suddenly, pinning Donny's, and quick as a flash the little man's hand moved under the blanket, snaking around Donny's back, coming to rest with one heck of a firm grip on Donny's round, ample buttocks. Donny uncontrollably jerked forward maybe an inch. So much for keeping the fuck still… But God, he'd forgotten why that mattered so much. Pre-come was making his underwear sticky. Who the fuck did little Smithson Utivich think he was anyway?

Somehow, Donny's hand kept up the pumping action, despite the pain and surprise and his state of arousal, but it was more loose and sloppy by now, and he knew Utivich MUST come soon. He pressed his mouth against Utivich's, but instead of kissing it he used his own lips to clamp Utivich's shut tightly. Any moment now…

Utivich's hand was moving under the blanket again, and this time it clumsily worked it's way down inside Donny's pants, smoothing over and then pinching Donny's naked buttock hard enough to hurt.

Not a-fucking-gain, thought Donny, and came in his pants without a sound.

His entire lower half was awash with almost numbing tingles of pleasure, but this was fucking excruciating. Utivich hadn't noticed, too wrapped up in his own finish. His hand still resting against the warmth of Donny's ass, he came all over Donny's fist, Donny's shirt, their shared blanket. They'd both opened their mouths at some point and were breathing each others stale air back and forth.

When he regained control of his limbs, Donny wiped his hand off on Utivich's shirt, noticing that the kid was shaking from the force of his climax. Utivich tried to say something into Donny's mouth that might have been 'thank you', and he figured that since the little man had held out so long that wank must've been earth-shattering for him. He was green with jealousy. He wished he could've had a little more fun before his own big bang, though his veins were still pumping stars and moonshine.

Donny realised with a start that Utivich was reaching for _his_ crotch now, obviously meaning to return the favour.

"No, don't!" Donny breathed urgently, all the blood that had been in his groin rushing to his face.

Too late. Utivich's hand found warm damp cloth and a softening cock in Donny's trousers. He blinked up at Donny in obvious astonishment. When Donny had nothing to say, Utivich's face actually creased into a stifled laugh of surprise.

Donny originally wanted to knee the boy in the groin, but went soft at the last minute and kneed him hard in the upper thigh instead.

"I'm sorry Donny, I'm sorry." Utivich whispered, amusement still lingering in his hushed voice. "I didn't realise you were that far gone, I got… carried away. I'll do you first next time, okay?"

Donny bared his teeth momentarily.

"I'll say if there's gonna be a next time or not. And you're goddamned right you'll be taking care of me first you cheeky little runt."

Utivich smiled, still up on high. He brought his damp-from-Donny's-pants palm up to his face, sniffed at it curiously, and then licked it. Donny's balls ached at the sight, and he was almost sure another drop of come leaked out of his neglected-yet-spent cock. A soft grunt escaped his lips, and he crushed Utivich with a bitingly hard kiss, bumpy tongue on bumpy tongue, tasting a little of himself.

They settled down for sleep, huddled close together. Donny felt frustrated – furious in fact – embarrassed and oddly sated all at the same time.

He remembered Wicki belatedly, and was relieved to be able to make out the man's deep snores.


End file.
